It’s the winter cold,
That cuts the most,
Reminding me of old,
Of efforts like ghosts,
Gone like my breath,
Caught upon this chill,
Fluttering to its death,
Like such discarded tinsel.
Once lustrous, boldly gleaming,
Now faded beyond glory,
Having lost all meaning.
Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Tinsel” as part of their Quadrille Series #142. Always a pleasure to buy a round for the bar.
Discarded Recollections 
So utterly chilling and hard hitting, Masa. I think when a poet manages to make me NOT realize there’s a rhyme-scheme within their poem that it’s a brilliant, mesmerizing piece. Not to say I don’t like overt rhymes, but just my preference and it allows me to absorb the piece better on a re-read. Love this one!
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Masa, there is Shakespearean cadence and flavor to your poem. Very shiny surface and oh so deep.
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Like a discarded tinsel, they have lost their meaning. Old hurts, ghosts – great to have that perspective on life.
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Each phrase is a little gem and the rhyme flows with ease.
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Beautiful quadrille. It has grace and the tarnish of tinsel. Enjoyed.
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When past efforts are just “discarded tinsel,” wasted breath like ghosts, old glories overlooked lose meaning. The pain here cuts deep especially in the pitiless winter of old age. Beautifully conceived and conveyed, Masa.
Pax,
Dora
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Masa – I think that stanza break after the word tinsel works perfectly – it’s chilling.
❤
David
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a wonderful poem which rhymes beautifully and unobtrusively
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I read this like how many holidays end, with those ambitions of being together ending up tossed like tangled tinsel.
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